


Primitive Heart

by ThereminVox



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 16:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15585660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereminVox/pseuds/ThereminVox
Summary: Jacob Seed character study courtesy of Cocteau Twins.





	Primitive Heart

Before being recruited to military duty, Jacob Seed had always illustrated as a fairly lanky kid. His ectomorph build had demanded a number of years, spanning the climax of his late 20s, to progress towards a more even fill of proportions. Not quite attaining the physique of a burly lumberjack, slaving away with hacking grace, but rather achieving a moderate, sturdy template of anatomy, staunch in preserving the cumbersome lurch of once gangling limbs.

 

_Closer_

_Must connect_

 

While he was conscious of the negative side effects, he had taken to intermittent fasting for indefinite lengths. Three days from each week, every month, he would limit himself to scarce rations of various uncooked meats, poultry, and fish, attended by the occasional raw fruit or veggie. Whether or not his kills comprised human or animal variety depended on the amends of the day relative to his wayward palate. He was brazen enough to admit partiality to human provisions.

For unspeakable reasons.

 

_Some waters to dilute_

_This little death_

 

Having little choice but to endure frigid nights, skies cloaked and showered by ashes of perpetuity, a stoic ginger boy of nineteen would deign to retire deriding rest of cowardly shadow, instead determined in reinforcing the grisly pangs of a primitive heart.

 

_Burning as alcohol_

_My solar flare of love_

_Soul psyche instinct_

_Dialecticts_

 

Interim time in juvie had introduced him to inconceivable hardships, hardly comparable to what he had suffered a decade ago whilst consigned to the vacant womb of a drafty cellar for his unyielding defiance.

Yet still disparaging, in its own loathsome right.

Consequently, it rendered his own womb hollow and ravenous. Left his flesh trembling well into the sweltering hours of day where sands of the penit’s recreational grounds were near indistinguishable from that of countless granules composing a sea of desiccation, traversing miles, with no clear destination in sight. The imprints of his soles only served as painful souvenirs courtesy of quaking boots with the weight of each limp body perched upon his back: the only meal he was allowed in that neighboring battle between death and dearth.

 

_Stay, stay, caught in a surfacing state_

_Though the soul must convey_

_Some more tears to delete_

_He is there to your death_

_Burning as alcohol_

 

Doubt supplied the gaps of his hunger as he willed away the hope of any ocean bearing enough water to quench his thirst. Perspiration progressed to desecration with every sting of taste from all sweat infused flasks.

 

_Sneaking out, suitcase shown_

_Lover must want a man_

 

The Iraqi Desert was a distant lover, beguiled by his tenacious emblem of grit and thus became mercilessly beguiling in turn. 82nd Airborne was his call to arms but the sands were grudging, if not duly oppressive in their greed. “Home” belied as shrapnel caresses through waging storms of fire in absence of cease. Winds whisking apparitions of kisses in pulp riddled minefields, behesting his sole scrutiny.

 

_To quiz of making man_

_This joy, this pain on her heart_

 

At 40 years young, the siren’s call wailed an urgent echo of tinnitus. Try as he might, Jacob was initially unwilling to admit yet another naive girl of his younger brother’s musing to bear the wiles of fugitive faith. She opened wounds and grazed each tender scar with every utterance of delusive voice. Yet, long before his estranged siblings had retrieved him from years of unconscious reflection, he had slept somber to the antiquated tune of “Only You” by The Platters, where both the titular commands of his designated barracks and subsequent shelter accepted that singular request for abiding comfort.

 

_Smooth things frame till sugared_

_Midnight he’ll sing blue_

 

Grueling hours, hoping, _pleading_ for the song to retreat. Until one fine morn, the once macilent planes of his chest emerged as a brawny hum whilst the wax and wane of crooning sopranos revived his ailing thrum.

 

_What woman can sing_

_Without loving the primitive heart_

 

It was the sergeant’s twilight trigger, echoing throughout the halls, beckoning each soldier forth, single file, to signify their training would never be obsolete, even long after discharge. But Jacob would always remain steadfast in his slumber, dormant to the melody’s mesmeric sway, arctic blue eyes straining paralyzed as the chorus maxim seemed determined in its fruitless attempts to entice him.

_Only you can make the darkness bright…_

 

_Heart, heart_

_Loving the primitive heart_

 

_Only you…_

_It was only ever you._

Is what he thinks and whispers before the blood-stained mirror of a mephitic dormitory in St. Francis Veteran Center. Nineteen years manifested as a boy’s pallid ghost, piercing him with his foreign, unmarred skin and relaxed brow.

 

_Strain, strain_

_Clouding yourself by seeing strain_

 

The man’s eyes squint against his fading likeness, grasping vain for purchase. Save for the shrill tock of midnight reign, his drunken gaze drifts swift to before. Before history ceded to desert its withering pages, inversely rooted through ticker wages.

Pointing stiffly, he hovers the tip of his combat blade just above the weathered mark of his jacket’s initials.

 

“Only you… can make all this world seem right.”


End file.
